Shadowplay
by Made of Honor
Summary: Volkner is trapped in his own anguish, but a certain friendly ghost is determined to set him free. Volkner/Morty.


**Shadowplay**

_I__ must __seem__ strange __to __them, _he thought. _To __suddenly__ hide __myself __away, __never __to __be__ seen__ again._

He half-smiled to himself as he pulled the iron mask over his face. He watched the sparks fly from the electrical tools beneath his gloves. Little beads of light, jumping out in different directions. He stopped caring about what _they_ thought about him a long time ago. He remembered their fits of rage over his sudden resignation like a fond memory. He lit a cigarette as he scanned over his blueprints, envisioning and molding the future of his machines.

It surprised him how a little boredom could change how a person lived out his life. He used to have things going for him. It used to be all action, blood, sweat, and drama - ah, the life of a gym leader! He remembered those days with a sour pout. It all used to be so exciting. Exciting until every opponent he faced fell before him all too easily, as if on their knees before their king.

Maybe it was just him. Perhaps he had gotten too powerful, too quickly. Even he himself couldn't tell. He was Volkner, the Shining Shocking Star, but he was only meant to shine for so long. Perhaps this was just a phase, in which he'd eventually get over his boredom and find interest in battling again. He doubted it. In his current situation, he had all the time in the world to think about such matters, but he certainly didn't plan on using his leave of absence to mope around.

He let his mind get caught up in other things. He planned to have the new mechanics for his gym up and running before the end of the year – not that he expected to be using his gym for league battles anymore. Boredom had sucked the purpose out of what he did. He built for the sake of building.

_Maybe__ a__ night club,_ he mused. _Or__ an __indoor __amusement __park._ He was trying to humor himself, but even he thought his sense of humor was running dry.

He was beginning to think he was getting too comfortable living in the dark. He learned the joys of living in solitude and silence, but they came hand in hand with loneliness. Sure, he had Flint come in to check up on him every other day, have him dazzle up the silence with stories of some battles he'd had or something Aaron did. And his Pokémon provided a warm source of company while he was working, although they did always tend to go off outside when he was too absorbed in his work.

He thought it would be enough for him. But…

_I__ couldn't __remember__ the __last __time__ I've __ever __wanted__ to __hold __someone,_ he thought.

The urge just suddenly materialized. He desired a companion, someone to have his way with in an intimate, sexual context. Perhaps Flint was working him up on purpose; tempting him with stories of women he'd seen and "met" while going between towns. Perhaps he was aware of the possibility that by doing so Volkner might eventually want to climb out from under his rock and _find_ someone. Volkner never showed it, but Flint really tested his tolerance. But he wasn't about to waltz outside and go skirt chasing because of a story of some girl.

He figured that his frustration could just be remedied by wanking himself off in the dark after a hard day's work, something he couldn't believe he did but did anyway. Was he really that pathetic? Just how hard was it to walk outside and actually meet someone? Someone tangible, not some ghost of a touch that he replicated through his imagination.

Fortunately for him, his bouts of self-pleasure became less frequent when he ran out of tissue boxes.

On some nights he tried talking to himself in the dark. He pretended the voice belonged to someone else, pretending that the hand on his chest was someone else's touch. During times like those, it didn't hurt to believe.

"This is stupid," he told himself one night. "How the hell did I sink this low?"

He was so sleepy and worn from the day's work that he thought he heard the darkness answer, "Loneliness can do that to you."

...

His equipment was being moved around. One second the wrench would be right where he had put it, but if he turned his head away for only a second it would be lying around in a different area, in a mismatched position.

He suspected that his Electivire or Raichu had something to do with it, but he didn't think they would be fast enough to pull off something like that without him noticing. He thought Flint was hiding somewhere in his gym, screwing around with his head – a thought that made him even more paranoid than he should be.

Whatever was going on, he tried not to let it bother him. It wasn't like these strange happenings were hindering his progress. Perhaps this was just the work of a friendly ghost, trying to get his attention. A ghost Pokémon, perhaps, who had wandered into the gym.

_Maybe __that __ghost __detector __I __built __in __high __school __will __finally __be __put __to __good __use, _he mused.

Well, if the ghost case were true... He tried to be more discreet when screwing around with himself at night.

...

He figured his seclusion was driving him crazy. He'd hear footsteps echoing within the gym, too heavy to belong to be any of his Pokémon, but light enough to be human. Flint, maybe, but this was during the late hours after he was done pestering Volkner and had returned home.

He slept on the couch in the gym office, so one night he made sure to lock the door on the inside. But as he hid himself under the covers he heard the footsteps close in on him, circling him, stopping for small instances.

When he threw the sheets off of him and pulled the switch for the light, no one stood there.

"I really am going crazy..."

He spent some nights simply sitting in the dark, hearing the footsteps circle around him but seeing no one.

He figured his mind was playing tricks on him.

Once, out of curiosity, he began talking to his uninvited guest. Much to his relief, they answered back.

"So I'm not going crazy," he said, sitting on the couch with the lights off. "So what are you, then? A Gengar who wandered its way in here, sticking its nose into other people's private business?"

"...And if I am?" The voice was male. Soft and wise, very unlike a Gengar's. Maybe it was a Duskull's.

"I might have to remove you, then."

"It's true, I am a ghost," it murmured, so close that Volkner imagined it sitting next to him. "But not a ghost type Pokémon. I am the ghost of a human."

Volkner quirked his lip. "Are you? Did someone die here in this gym, long ago?" From what he knew, the gym had been in Sunnyshore for decades. "Are you trying to stop me from renovating your resting place?"

"Ha ha, it's nothing like that." The voice was moving around again. "I suppose I'm what you would call a wandering ghost. Moving around without direction, subjected to loneliness for the rest of its existence. Moving around without being seen."

Volkner's stomach began to churn at the words _with out __being__ seen_. "How long have you been here?"

"Not for very long. You see, we wanderers can only stay in one place for a certain amount of time. And then we… drift away."

The electric master lay himself down on the couch, closing his eyes. "Will you be leaving soon?"

The voice chuckled. "Who knows?" It had wandered towards the far wall, in front of the window. "We leave when we have to. We get swept away on a whim without direction, to destinations beyond our control."

"And you're okay with that?"

"I'm okay with a lot of things."

A long silence followed. Perhaps he was too tired; the reality of the situation wasn't sinking in. Volkner was floating in the world between dream and reality.

"Why can't I see you?"

The blinds were slightly parted by invisible hands, letting a little moonlight into the small office.

"You're probably the first person who's ever heard or spoken to me. I don't know about seeing; maybe I can't be seen. Which I can understand, I suppose; I'm a wandering spirit with no body." A deep sigh. "…Everything becomes uncertain after death."

The voice remained silent afterward. Feeling no need to speak any more, Volkner ran a hand through his coarse hair and pulled the covers over himself, submitting to sleep.

…

His throat was getting dry. The vending machine in the front hall was already out of sodas, so he made a mental reminder to ask Flint to go shopping for him the next time he passed by.

He wasn't about to let anything interrupt his work. He was onto something big, and he could feel it. Maybe a breakthrough in mechanics. His current project, when complete, could possibly be the new hot topic of engineering, as well as his ticket towards a better career path. It didn't sound half bad. He could live with holing himself up in a physics lab for the rest of his life, creating contraptions for a living. It was a good escape plan too. Just submit his work under a different name, and the Pokémon League and all of his angry fans would never hear of him again.

He became completely rooted in his work. His Raichu and other teammates seemed concerned, often tugging on his shirt and whining, but he brushed them off and assured them that he was nearly finished. Hours on end he worked, heating metal and clanging on nuts and bolts until he found blisters on his fingers. He ignored the headaches and gulped down pain killers between naps. His masterpiece was beginning to take shape. He was going to stop at nothing until its completion.

...

"Hey, it's me Flint. Just calling from Undella Bay! Buck and Aaron say hi. I would have asked you to come along, but you seem pretty hell-bent on whatever you're trying to build in that gym of yours. And sorry, but the trip was pretty much arranged last minute. I hope you don't get too lonely without me. I met some pretty sweet chicks over here. There's this one girl named Shauntal, and I think she's really into me! ...No, I'm not trying to rub things in. Too much.

"So yeah, if you get this message I'm just letting you know that I won't be back for another two weeks. You can take care of yourself, I know, but sometimes I worry about you, man. You need to go out and get your own groceries. And don't eat too much junk food, you hear? I see the things in that vending machine of yours disappearing every day.

"Also... Talk to your Pokémon. I know they're technically out of service at the moment, but that doesn't mean you have to distance yourself from them. You need them as much as they need you.

"I miss you, man. Don't get lost without me."

...

He lifted the iron mask from his face to wipe the thick layer of sweat from his brow. The heat of the sparks felt more like a flamethrower against his skin. As he looked away he saw stars swimming through his vision, and for once he put down his equipment to sit down on the work bench.

He grabbed at the juice box from the table for a quick sip, but a wave of nausea knocked him to his knees before he could do anything to quench his parched throat. He collapsed on his back, the ceiling lights bright, distorted blobs in his fading vision. He thought he heard his Raichu yelling off in the distance. His breathing became erratic and more sweat rolled down his face, and for a moment he seriously thought he was going to die.

Everything grew darker until there was nothing to see at all.

...

Flint was carrying him to safety. Volkner looked up and saw his friend's wide, cheeky smirk. And his ridiculous hair, lest he forget, which blocked out the summer sun. Carrying him in this embarrassing bridal style position, and judging by the waves of coolness that swept over his skin and the smell of salt, they were at the beach.

Flint's lips were moving; he couldn't understand a thing he said. Maybe scolding him for getting too careless. He wasn't a very good swimmer, after all.

He liked it better here. He was with Flint and Aaron and all of his friends at the most beautiful place in the world, nothing to worry about except going outside and having fun and meeting other girls.

And all of his problems would be at the back of his mind.

Of course, it seemed too perfect to be true. The next moment he blinked and he was staring up at the dark ceiling of his office. He was lying on his couch with a thick blanket laid over him and a cool towel plastered over his forehead, and for a moment he could have sworn he was in someone else's' house because he didn't remember doing any of this for himself.

An electric fan he never knew he had buzzed in the corner, and beside it the door shut closed on its own. If Volkner weren't in such a state he would have flipped all of his shit.

"Oh, you're awake." He almost jumped off the couch, but he recognized the voice. It was the "ghost" from several nights ago.

The chair beside him shifted slightly; the ghost was taking a seat. Perhaps he wanted to talk.

"How did I get here...?" Volkner coughed, touched his throat. His voice sounded terrible. Like there was sandpaper wedged in there.

"I carried you of course. You're very heavy, if you don't mind me saying."

"Wait, you... You touched me?"

"Yes I did. I was surprised myself. Usually I couldn't touch people, or anything for that matter. I'd just phase through. But when I saw that you were in need of help, all of a sudden I was able to." By the sound of his voice Volkner could tell he was smiling. Out of a sudden surge of curiosity, the blonde lolled slightly to his side and lifted his arm up as if to touch his savior's face.

"You should lay still. Your fever is still running high."

Blinking twice at the darkness, Volkner let out a heavy sigh before collapsing onto his back.

"I feel like shit."

The towel on his forehead was pushed to the side and he felt a cool, soft hand slide in to replace it. The moments that followed were encompassed in pure silence, the buzz of the fan and Volkner's steady breaths the only other things to be heard. He grew used to the feel of the invisible hand resting on his skin, a sensation that would have startled or unnerved anyone else. Given his current situation, he didn't even have the strength to complain.

Then, without warning, the hand suddenly moved lower, delicately passing down the bridge of his nose and over his speechless lips. The fingers slowly yet surely slipped underneath the blanket at Volkner's chest, and it was only when they reached the hem of his pants when he finally registered what was going to happen.

The ghost's touch entered the private territories past Volkner's waistline, and he let out a silent yelp when the fingers nudged against the base of his cock. "W-what the hell are you doing?" He was about to rip the blanket off of him when immediately the hand just started _rubbing_ and his protests were drowned out into to nothing more than a low, shaky whimper.

"Just relax," the voice coaxed, his tone soft and assuring. "What's there to be worried about? You do this all the time on your own."

"Son of a- oh, _Arceus_." If it were possible to die of shame, the ex-gym leader would have gladly kissed the world goodbye. Yet the hand would not heed, instead curling around the sensitive shaft and pumping it the way he liked it. Volkner groaned into the side of his pillow, the heat in his face intensifying. Had the ghost been observing him for that long? He had neither the nerve nor the strength to ask by that point. And by the way his body arched against the ghost's touch rather than away from it, he quickly decided that all mind and reason no longer mattered.

It no longer mattered because it actually felt good. _So_ good. He couldn't remember the last time anyone had ever done this to him. All of those nights he spent alone _pretending_ satisfied him briefly, but he could never deny the frustrating emptiness he felt afterwards. Ever since he had gone into hiding he convinced himself that he would never get such attention from anyone again, and that he would be okay with it.

But as his moans grew heavy with desperation and his hands groped the air for someone he couldn't see, he admitted to himself that he had _never_ been okay with it. He realized it wasn't healthy to be deprived. He'd grown sick, suppressing his own needs for the sake of self-pride. His fingers found the nape of a neck, and he grasped it for dear life, throwing his head back and shutting his eyes.

"Don't... stop..." he managed. He couldn't let this end. His mind's eye pieced together something tangible, a life form, a person that generated heat and emotions, and he was convinced that this wasn't some crazy delusion.

In his mind, the ghost manifested as a real person.

Yet another hand slipped in, fingertips gliding over his abdomen gingerly as opposed to the rapid pumping of the other. His grunts escalated to open mouthed gasps; he wasn't going to last much longer. His hold on the ghost tightened, and between each breath he managed to piece together a small order.

"Your... name..."

A name, dammit. It was the final piece of the puzzle, the one thing that would complete the ghost's existence.

There was a brief pause on the ghost's end, as if he were smiling to himself. "Call me Morty."

"Morty. Morty... Morty..." Volkner repeated it with every breath he had. It felt too damn nice on his tongue. His hand slipped from the ghost's neck and stroked down hard on his shoulder, urging him with every word he spoke. "...Morty... more... _fuck_... almost there, dammit..."

It took him a moment to realize that lips were gently being mashed against his own. He quickly returned the kiss with a more consuming hunger, only for his tongue to grow slack against it when the pumping on his member increased tenfold, pushing him closer and closer towards breaking point.

The sensation of his climax left his hips bucking and his entire body tense up as if hot-wired. The sweat and intense heat of his fever made him feel uncomfortable, but at the same time it only added to the heat of the pleasure, and he would gladly let it burn him up into ashes. He desperately held onto the kiss, nearly biting through the flesh, although Morty didn't seem to mind. After letting out a final strangled grunt, Volkner simply grew limp on top of the couch, working to catch his breath.

Some point after the ghost's hands retreated, Volkner could already feel himself slipping into inescapable sleep. A ghost of a hand stroked his hair, as if encouraging him to rest. He nodded as if half-drunk, chest heaving and mouth hanging open in near disbelief.

He would have said thank you, but he could barely get any words out, only managing to mouth it towards the ceiling. He was spiraling too fast towards unconsciousness. He would return the favour some day, somehow, if all of this weren't some twisted hallucination and the ghost wouldn't be gone by morning.

Before the embrace of sleep took over him, he heard the voice say, "You're very welcome."

It sounded way too real to be a hallucination.

...

Waking up the next morning was different. His eyes fluttered open to sunlight, which surprised him for a moment; he glanced to the far wall where the window was and realized that the blinds were up. It was pushed open too, letting a soft breeze into the dusty office, rattling the loose-leafs on the floor. Since the day he decided he would be living here he always woke up in the dark, not knowing or caring what it looked like outside.

But now, he never felt better. His fever had gone down considerably, almost to nothing, although he could do without the runny nose and aching joints. He helped himself off of the couch and twisted his pelvis around, only to have last night's memories hit him hard like lightning.

Volkner slowly sank back down onto the couch, expression blank. Thinking back to it, it felt like a really messed up dream, only he could remember every single minute of it. He imagined Flint standing over him, laughing his guts out. "A ghost gave you a hand job?" He's on the floor now, dying. That is if he would actually believe it, which Volkner couldn't see happening.

But that turned out to be the least of his concerns. Where had the ghost gone off to? Maybe he had already disappeared, as he had said. Maybe that was what he did. Satisfying people with his magic ghost hands before being carried off to his new destination. Volkner let out a deep sigh before flopping back onto the couch, hands folded behind his head.

Was he actually… disappointed?

"Good morning."

Volkner perked up and turned to face the corner behind him, which he cursed himself for, _dumb __move,_ because it wasn't like he was going to be seeing anyone.

Only this time, he did.

There was another man, standing _in__ his __office,_ arms folded over his sweater and straws of blonde hair catching the drift of the ocean breeze. On his pale face was a small, cryptic smile, half-hidden by the scarf that hung loosely around his shoulders.

And somehow, Volkner knew exactly who he was looking at.

"…Morty?"

He met the ghost from his dreams for a second time.

* * *

><p>AN:

Lemon writing is still so awkward for me, ha ha. Or… does this chapter count more towards a lime?

Anyway, chapter 2 will be up eventually.

Reviews are love.


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